Pride
by Hildasaurus
Summary: Is this young Franziska's first failure, or a victory? Manfred and Franziska, Kink Meme ficlet.


(I love the von Karmas. They're so screwed up, even when their last name is Edgeworth. First fic for PW, first one I'd written in three years. Originally posted on all the way back on part 1 of the Anonymous Kink Meme. A few people on LJ whose judgment I trust liked it, so I thought I'd share it with the rest of the internet.)

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The drawer rolled open. She couldn't see what was coming out of it; she couldn't bring herself to look up at it. _Only eight, and Papa's going to hate me forever. First one rule, then the other broken, and he _sees_ me do it. He was saying Little Brother wasn't living up to the name, but I'm not worthy either._ Her head hung down, hands at her sides, eyes on the floor. _I can't look at him. He's just going to look at me in that disappointed way, as if he's the one who's done something wrong with me… and it's my fault._

She heard his feet pacing slowly, muffled by the carpet, from behind the desk, following the bookshelves around the room, circling around her, the smacking of… whatever it was… in his hand matching the rhythm of his steps. "Franziska." Her name came from behind her, as coolly as if he was asking her a detail of rules of evidence, as if they were in school that morning.

"Yes, sir?"

"You know what you've done to be standing here right now. Tell me."

She had gone white when he caught her doing it. Now the blood came back to her face in a blush she tried to will away. "I…"

"Look at me. You're a von Karma and will behave like one, not some ill-bred squirming brat." The sharpness, and the reminder of what she was reduced to, stung her.

_Show him you're not afraid. Hold your head up and pretend it's school. Be better than Little Brother was and don't look away from him_. _And __don't__cry__. _She wasn't going to let her voice shake, even when she looked at him and saw in front of the lamplight what he had taken out of his desk - a leather cord about four feet long, maybe, if unfolded. "I watched you through the keyhole of your filing room while you were speaking to Miles in your office privately this evening. When you found me, I tried to lie to you and said I had accidentally been locked in there when I was looking for a book."

"Correct." Coldly, evenly. Still pacing, back and forth in front of her, leather skein still slapping his palm. She wasn't going to stare at that thing and show how it shook her, though she knew exactly what Papa was going to do with it. "What did I tell you the last time you were dishonest with me, Franziska?"

She remembered it; it had frightened her then, but today the risk had been worth the hope of being believed. "If I lied to you ever again, you would have to whip me to help me remember not to do it." _I'm so stupid… if I hadn't lied to him he would have lectured me about sneaking and let me go. Now he has to do this._

The pacing stopped, right in front of her. His hands were right at her eyes, and she could see the whip was actually fairly thick, about as thick as the last finger on those thin white hands holding it… it wouldn't cut her, but still would hurt. And Papa had never hurt her before. She bit her lip on the inside, so he couldn't see her fear. _Don't be afraid of that. Take it like Papa would want you to. Don't let yourself cry; even if you're a girl you're a von Karma and too good for that._

She could feel his eyes on her face, could sense the look from the sound of his voice: brows drawn together, frowning: the look of condemnation she knew and hated so well. "You have a good memory with facts, but you seem not to be able to remember _not to lie to me_. I think five strokes will be sufficient this time. Against the desk. Now."

Four or five steps forward, around and past Papa, passing that _thing_, up to his desk. She leaned against the edge, feeling the corners dig slightly into her chest. The memory of the time three years ago she'd seen him do this to Little Brother for the same offense, hiding crouched up against the filing room's keyhole while her twelve-year-old brother clung to the desk and whimpered under ten blows from a wand, told her the next step. Hooking her thumbs under the edge to stay as still as possible _(I won't jerk about and whine, I am stronger than Little Brother ever will be)_, she stood straight and waited, jaw clenched shut and eyes screwed closed to brace herself.

"One." As if he was counting off pages.

She heard a slight whisper of air, and then came a sudden, cold, _burning_ sting just under her shoulder blades. She gasped and twitched against the desk despite herself. _Can't… show it… you weak little fool. Stand there and take it._

"Two." She knew what to expect now, and that made it worse. A little lower than before, and she hissed, but stayed still, as the same pain bit into her.

"Three." _Not quite so bad. It hurts, but I can make it._ Two more wouldn't be _that_ terrible, would they? After all, as painful as it was, she'd been able to keep silent when this one hit low on her back.

"Four." If she hadn't had her teeth grinding together to prevent another sound, she would have cried out, feeling the whip cut into part of the last stroke it had made. _One more… just one more… don't hit me again there, I can't keep still and I can't take you treating me like I'm weak when I scream, I can't cry…_

"Five." The last one she barely even realized had happened until afterward.

It was over. As she let go of the desk, she realized her hands had begun to tremble. So had the rest of her. She tried to keeping standing straight through the pain and turned around to look up at Papa… she wasn't about to cry, not now when he was finished, that would be something a fool like Little Brother would have done.

When Papa stepped closer to reach for her, she flinched, and chastised herself for it, but she felt him running his hand down her hair, a finger along her jaw line, tilting her chin up to look right in his face. It was rare he was gentle with her like this.

"Will that help you remember not to lie to me?"

"Yes, sir."

"I had to correct your sister twice in this manner. You bore it far better the first time than she did the second." _Was that a… compliment?_ "You also took it better than your brother did when I had to discipline him. You have a strong will, Franziska. I think…" He considered for a moment. "I think you ought to be on the other end of the whip." He took it, in a skein again, and folded it into her still shaking hand.

"Thank you, sir." He let go of her face, and she walked out as calmly as she could. Up the stairs, feeding the burning as her back muscles moved. Down the hallway, to her room. To her bed, burying her face in a pillow. And no tears, still.

_--End_

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(I never _did_ get a response from the requester. If by some chance you're here, do message me, I'd like to know what you thought of it. Reviews would be lovely, and if you don't like this or if I got something wrong, please tell me so I can fix it rather than posting on fanficrants or GAFF. Concrit is MORE than welcome. This fandom doesn't have enough good fiction, and I'd like to provide some.)


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